


fare for passage

by peachTSD



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Gen, How much of this game is canon to Greek Mythos anyways?, Inaccurate Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Pre-Canon, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, baby thanatos! baby hypnos!, god i love nyx, well technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:56:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28781610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachTSD/pseuds/peachTSD
Summary: Charon’s first memory is the sounds of the River Styx lapping softly at the shore.The Styx is the only thing he knows; her tempest waters are where he rises from, along her waves he ferries the end of all mortal life, and through her carved river is where their world falls to ruin.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	fare for passage

**Author's Note:**

> so........ this game.... has consumed me 
> 
> BUT I MEAN i adore greek mythology, and the designs? the music? the characters? muah chefs kiss... but i double-y love the story of persephone, so learning more about the story of this game (strictly through playthroughs, because it took me 4 weeks to beat the hydra) has been fascinating
> 
> but ive really come to love the benevolence of the chthonic family... just a momma and her many kids living in the ether before the creation of the world. This takes place well before Zagreus' birth, before the events of the game!

Charon’s first memory is the sounds of the River Styx lapping softly at the shore. His consciousness is formed in that moment, unraveling from the midst of Night while his corporeal form is woven with the dexterous hands of Chaos. He lifts his eyes, and is greeted by the Night herself.

She stands on the shore, cradling a bundle against her chest – two infants, upon closer inspection, pale and intertwined– and a great oar rests in her free hand. Charon studies the sight for a moment, then turns his focus to himself. He only takes the time to look over his ashen limbs and chiton, long robes floating in the ankle-high river he stands in.

“Charon,” the first words he hears are his mothers, soft and reverent. “My eldest son.”

He nods in assent, wading slowly out of the bloody river and onto the shore alongside the Night. She smiles at his approach, a secretive curve of her lip which Charon will learn over the next several aeons is one that she reserves exclusively for her children. 

“You are the Ferryman of all mortal souls, called by the Fates to guide the living from the world above into our domain.” She hands him the oar while she speaks, and he runs his bare fingers along the wooden length, a newfound object that somehow feels painfully familiar.

“Your role as a psychopomp is an important one, my child. You will guide the newly dead to the place where judgement shall be called.” A long boat drifts towards the shore, plainly decorated but well worn against the tides of the Styx. “Your domain is not chained to one realm but to the Styx itself; you answer to no Titans, nor Olympians alike.”

Charon steps is the boat first, settling into the weight of the river. He turns to offer a hand to Nyx, but is stopped when she presents him with an outstretched hand, something small and glittering resting in her palm.

“A toll must be required for fair passage,” she explains as he examined the coin. “The mortals will teach their kind to provide the dead with their fare for travel.”

He groans, smoke curling around him in affirmation. She settles into the boat, and the tip of his oar kisses the breadth of the Styx for the first time, an action which will occur an immeasurable amount of times. With a ripple, the boat glides through the Styx, and Nyx tends to the fussing children in her arms while the Ferryman makes his first trip through the primal layers of the Underworld.

  
  


*

  
  


They spent an immeasurable amount of time alone, the family of Chaosborne children who explore and understand the depths of the Underworld as their own. Within the blanket of Night, Nyx tends to her children, and Charon rows the bank of the Styx until it's gait becomes a tender lullaby for the first mortals to pass into the Underworld. When they arrive, they immediately drink from the cool sweetness of the Lethe, and fade blissfully into the void. 

This is where Charon meets Hermes, the first Olympian to travel beneath the Earth’s breast. He arrives in a rolling wave of energy and a line of mortal souls. 

“Pleasure to meet you!” The god of commerce eagerly guides the souls into the Ferryman’s boat, some depositing shined obols into Charon’s awaiting palms. The mortals had come from young, war-ridden homes. Charon turned an eye to those who passed onto the boat empty-handed. There would be more.

Charon groaned in greeting to the young Olympian. 

“Not a man of many words, are you?” Hermes peered at Charon’s face from beneath his hat. The two stared at each other for a tense moment, before Hermes waved a casual hand and shrugged. “That’s quite alright, I’ll just have to talk for two!” 

Charon quickly grew familiar with the sight of the Olympian shepherding souls between realms, catching glimpses of his glowing scarf or hearing the flutter of his winged sandals.

Eventually, Hermes began to recline in the ferryman’s boat while relaying information or sharing his tales, and Charon allowed the two to drift mindlessly along the river all the while. Hermes’s visits to the Under were armed with more than ferried souls; he came with ambrosia, once, as a gift to the Night Goddess for Charon to deliver. Next, he came with a set of rings for Charon, birthed from precious metals and carved by a famous mortal steelesmith. 

Outside of the realm of Night the Titans reign, and war brews between the Olympians and their fathers.

The life of the Ferryman is a comfortable infinity.

  
  


*

  
  


Time passes in a slow blur; the war between the Olympians and the Titans finally ends, and the safehaven that the Night had provided is no more. The maws of Tartarus have been torn open, and the Titans have been cast in chains before the Olympians decide that they will send one of their own to rule the Under. 

Charon sees the newly crowned King of the Underworld for the first time standing along the bank of the Styx. To the right of the Olympian is the Mother Night, whose brow is creased as the two talk in low, hushed tones. Charon hears words and the ends of formed sentences flit past him, and heeds them no mind as he brings his boat to a rest at the docks. Beneath them, the Styx is a tempest storm, rocking against the boat and swirling wildly. 

“Charon,” Nyx steps forward, “The Fates have made their decision.” The strain was unmistakable in her soft voice. Charon studies the red, fleshy scars that crisscross the King’s body, the freshly sharpened blade of his exalted spear catching ruby light against the tempest Styx. His face is settled into a grimace that deepens as Charon examines him, before the Ferryman bows lightly in greeting. “Lord Hades will rule as the new King of the Underworld, and all of its domains.” 

He wonders if the Olympian is bitter, defying the Fates to slay the Titans in an impossible battle, only to be thrown to the Underworld before the scars from that war had even begun to heal. Hades is garbed not in the robes of a King, but a warrior still. How it must feel, to be cast from the heavens into the dead realms.

Upon this thought, Charon takes in the foreign stiffness of his mother’s shoulders and the unfamiliar purse of her lips. In the stretches of time he had to understand the Night, she had never once raised her voice or worn her rage on her face. Yet here she stood, visibly discontent to serve an irritated Olympian who would now hold power over her domain. How it must feel, he mused, to have your realm pawned off to one who despised it. 

“Shall we start in Tartarus?” The King gruffs, and Nyx nods before the two step toward the boat. Before Hades can step onto the boat, however, Charon holds his hand out. Hades glances at the extended hand, brow raised in confusion before the meaning draws to him.

“How dare you–” Hades draws himself to his full height, spearing Varatha into the dock and towering over the boatman. The Olympian stood taller than Charon, and his offense to Charon’s suggestion was palpable in the malicious pertinence radiating from him.

Charon’s only response is a low, guttural groan, cool smoke wafting from aged teeth and rotted flesh. His upturned hand never wavered, and the two stood in a tentative standoff until Hades broke his gaze with a long string of muttering, reaching into his rich cape and withdrawing a pristine obol. 

“Does that satisfy you?” He ground out, and Charon wordlessly let him pass. 

From besides them, Nyx watches the interaction silently, but when Charon extends his hand to settle her onto the unsteady boat, he can see the mirth in her eyes and in the corner of her mouth. From the King’s agitated huff, her amusement is no secret. 

It was little work to begin their way down the Styx, stiffly wrapped in silence as Charon methodologically sweeps them through the unsteady river. They pass the flaming Phlegethon before a word is spoken. It is Nyx who breaks the silence. 

“The Fates spoke to you of a Queen, no?” Hades bristles at that, curling his crossed arms close to his chest. While her question is soft spoken, within her steely gaze lies an answer on its own.

“Do not speak of those wretched Fates. I’ve had quite enough of their meddling to last me aeons.” Hades snaps. Charon had never met his sisters, Chaosborne beings who spoke in riddles of three. Perhaps that was why Nyx was perturbed, to receive her fate from the hands of her own kin.

“My daughters do not meddle. They guide us through the destiny that we must all fulfill. Even you, Titanslayer.” Nyx folds her hands together. “You would be wise to heed their advice, lest you forget the value of their words.”

“Their prophecies are little more than wishful musings.” Hades spits. “And the Underworld does not answer to the Fates anymore, Night. It answers to  _ me _ .” At this, Nyx raises a curious brow.

It is patience that levels her voice, though Charon sees the taught twist of her midnight gowns in between her clenched hands. “It is true that you wear the crown of the Underworld and all of its realms. Your might reigns from the highest peaks in Elysium to the deepest pits of Tartarus, where you buried your father alongside your kin.

“You rule over all mortal beings whose souls are buried beneath the Earth; you are King of the shades, and will guide them as such. You will serve as the Lord of your estate, and will have endless abandon to control the matters of the dead to your bidding.”

Hades inhales heavily, but Nyx raises a hand to halt his reply.

“I am not finished, Titanslayer.”

His grimace morphs into a sneer, but he says nothing.

“You will have all of this, as it is the Fates’ design. But you will never control the Chaosborne. My children do not serve you, Olympian King. They serve me, and they serve the Chaos from which we were created.” She motions to Charon, who rows without pause. “My eldest is the Ferryman of the Dead, but his role does not serve  _ you _ . He serves the Styx, and the will of the Fates, as you will in due time.” Nyx’s voice was nearly drowned in the roar of the Styx. “You may employ their services, but they will  _ never _ heel to your absolute authority. Nor will I.”

Hades is silent for a long time. Charon guides them to the foot of the river, where the mouth of the Styx opens onto the crushed remains of the palace of Titans, soaked crimson from the currents of the blood river. It is only after the Ferryman has guided his mother out of his boat that the new King speaks.

“I have tested the Fates before, Night. It is only through this test that I have buried the Titans within the deepest pits of my new domain. The primordial gods that were toppled by my brothers and I were not within the designs of destiny. Yet here I stand.”

“Nothing is outside of the Fates’ design.” Nyx calls, but says nothing else.

“You have asked me to heed their advice, now heed mine. This realm needs no Queen. The Olympians have little need to meddle in the affairs of the Underworld, and a goddess would do nothing more.” Hades stands from the boat, stepping past the incarnate of night. “I care little for your children and their loyalty, as long as they perform their roles without trouble.” 

“They will grow into their roles as you do yours, Titanslayer.” Nyx watches the retreating form of the new king, until he is a crimson swath against the collapsed marble and carved stone. She turns to her son once they are alone.

“I apologize for the unsightly summon I called upon you, Charon. I know the mortals suffered greatly from the chaos following the collapse of the Titans. Your work is busy, yet you came to fetch for me. For that, I am grateful.” 

Charon nods in assent, groaning a thin stream of smoke. There was much that needed to be done, in the wake of the Titans’ fall. Mortal cities that needed to fall, so mortal wars could finally end. Souls that needed to be harvested, and shades that needed transport through the depths of the Underworld. And a new King to rule over it all. 

  
  


*

“Charon!” The ferryman lifts his gaze at his name, veering his boat to rest against the grassy banks of the Lethe. He watches as a young Hypnos wades through the thick grass, waving erratically at the psychocomp. Behind him, Thanatos waves timidly as the two children approach the boat.

“C’mon, c’mon! Give us a ride!” Hypnos grabs the worn edge of the boat, smacking his hands against the ledge to an irregular rhythm. At Charon’s curious groan, he nudges his brother, who hesitates before speaking. 

“Could you return us to the House? We were summoned by Lord Hades but…” Thanatos cuts himself off, whipping his head to glare at his brother. “But  _ someone _ fell asleep in Elysium, and it took me hours to find him!” 

Hypnos’ only defense is a wide yawn, shrugging idly. “I got tired, and it was cozy! I don’t see the problem, Than!” The incarnate of sleep stares at the eldest for a moment, before quickly leaping into the boat. “Well, you didn’t say no!” He races to the prow, settling himself in a comfortable heap of linens and furs. 

Thanatos fished in his robes, brow creased in distress while Hypnos chatted absentmindedly about his slumbers. He withdrew an obol from his pocket, but blanched before meeting Charon’s gaze.

“I have a coin for Hypno, but I’ve only one. Will you accept this as fare for my travel?” He held up an Elysium lily, petals stained pink and heavy with dew. He takes care to straighten the stem from its rough handling, with a fluster that rises to his cheeks at Hypnos’ giggling.

“C’mon, Than! We don’t have to pay, we’re not dead!” Thanatos shakes his head firmly, planting his feet firmly on the mossy land. 

“No, I won’t board without paying my fare. It’s only right, Hypnos.” At the young gods’ words, Charon reaches over and gently accepts the offered flower, groaning in approval. He tucks the flower against the sack of offerings rested on the mast, and shakes his head at Thanatos’ offered obol. The young god gently climbs the lip of the boat, and soon after the three brothers embark on the Styx. 

Hypnos soon grows bored of his seat, and ambles over to where Thanatos has rested near the Ferryman. The two arrange themselves in a tangle of limbs and pools of fabric; Hypnos rests his head along his brothers’ shoulder, humming absently as the two take in the realms of the Underworld as the fields of Elysium scorch into the bubbling craters of Asphodel. As they turn from the misty streams of the Lethe to the scorching hum of the Phlegethon, the two entertain themselves by counting the shades visible from the Ferryman’s post. 

Hypnos yawns loudly mid-count, garnering a withering stare from his twin brother. He snuggles into his brother’s side, grinning wickedly at the yawn Thanatos offers soon thereafter. 

“Stupid Hypnos… Stop making me feel tired…” Thanatos mumbles, but no malice is strung in his words. Hypnos leans further into him, mumbling something that is lost to the draw of sleep. After a few moments, the other follows, and Charon steers the two slumbering Chthonic gods down the river Styx in comfortable silence.

He marvels at the unconscious brothers before him, so quick to fall into a deep sleep. Perhaps it was the birth of Hypnos’ power taking influence over the young descendent, who snores gently against his brother. The incarnate of Death is far from so in his current form, cheeks still soft with youth and trust.

The two were slowly approaching the birth of their powers, a milestone which Charon knew would sever them from their childhoods forever. No longer would they roam the realm in playful respite; the hands of Fate drew them close to their destined powers, and it was a matter of time before they assumed the roles of Sleep and Death. 

Perhaps it was fine to allow them these youthful moments while they still had them.

Waiting for the three at the pool of the Styx was the Underworld’s King himself, arms crossed and chest puffed in preparation for an argument; however, he deflated at the sight of the two gods entertwined in sleep, chests rising heavily in time with the flow of the river. He glanced at Charon once, before grumbling to himself and leaving them to return to his desk. 

  
  
  


The next time Thanatos greets his eldest brother, he notices the lily, wrinkled with death, is pressed gently between the shined charms of the Ferryman’s hat.

*

It was not long after that when the Underworld gained a new guest.

Charon is summoned to the Temple of Styx, newly erected and framed by the two King gods; Zeus’ arms outstretched in warm jest, while Hades’ arms are crossed in his harsh tradition. Between the two stands a goddess, hardly reaching the chest of the Olympians.

Charon drew closer to the riverbank when he was noticed.

“Ah! The Ferryman arrives,” Zeus nods in greeting, and Charon bows in return. The goddess gives Charon a quick glance over, before bowing deeply and waving. Charon hears the two Kings bicker briefly, words of little importance as they approach the boat, before the King of Lightning clears his throat.

“As lovely as this was, I must be going.” The King of Olympus sighs, setting a hand on his brothers’ shoulder. “It’s a shame, though, as I’ve hardly seen you in aeons!” 

“What a terrible shame,” Hades bites back icily. Zeus’ smile thins, but he holds his remark in lieu of clapping the others’ shoulder once more, before stepping away and breaching the Temple doors in a burst of bright, violent light. Once the light clears, Hades seethes at the door where his brother vanished. 

He takes a long, unsteady breath to reign himself, muttering something that causes the goddess to titter with laughter. The two turn to the Ferryman. 

“This is Persephone.” He gestures to the goddess, who perks at the sound of her name and steps closer to the boat. Persephone, the goddess of grain and of the seasons. Daughter of Demeter, now standing before the Ferryman of the Dead. What an interesting sight, a goddess clad in earthly tones and mortal garbs among the deceased and voidborne. Charon watches the way her hand rests along the King’s forearm, and is surprised that he does nothing to stop her from so. “She will be living in the Underworld, and will be doing so in secret.” 

The threat does not go unnoticed by Charon, who simply groans in understanding. With Zeus bringing the goddess to the passage between worlds, rather than having this exchange occur in the Olympian court, the secrecy of her journey was obvious; there are few immortals who venture between worlds. Only the psychocomps and Death himself are frequent travelers between the Underworld and Olympus.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Persephone raises a hand to Charon, who watches for Hades’ reaction before greeting her with his own. “I hope you won’t mind the interruption to your work, I understand your job must keep you busy!”

Charon offers a low groan and a plume of smoke in return. 

In her palm he is surprised to find the cool weight of a Greecian coin, and her smile widens as he studies it. “My fare, of course. I’ve lived among mortals for many years, and I know their tales of those who pass into the Underworld without their fare for travel across Styx.” 

Charon offers a low grumble, and nods his head as understandably as he can. He helps her into the boat, where she sits nervously until Hades rests besides her. As Charon sweeps them from the temple and into the heart of the Styx, she watches the vanishing doors with an unreadable expression. 

She marvels at the structures they pass through, asking questions idly about the columns in Elysium, and the bright glow of the Phlegethon. As they pass by shades she greets them and asks the Underworld King their deeds, which he lists readily. Persephone has returned her hand to the King’s arm, and the two maintain a mundane string of chatter during their journey. 

At the gate where the Styx meets the House of Hades, Persephone thanks Charon profusely for his ferry, much to the bemusement of the Ferryman. She accepts his hand as she settles onto the carpeted entryway, and gawks at the carved stairway that leads to the House of Hades. After the two Olympians have stepped away from the boat, Persephone waves to Charon’s receding figure until his boat has sailed across the Styx’s many channels. 

The Styx is calm beneath him, murmuring a lullaby against the carved oak as the Ferryman mused over new life growing in the world Under.

**Author's Note:**

> i kind of want to continue this but Procrastination ™.... Charon was a character that didn't interest me much on first visit, but I've come around (it may because he sold me a healthpack that helped me beat meg for the first time.....). Hermes is a hard character for me to pin down.... His Olympian heely's are full of secrets....


End file.
